Furies of Panem
by singwing
Summary: Gale/Katniss, no pairing for the main character, Desiderius. A Codex Alera Hunger Games xover. Desiderius competes, loses a friend, and leads a rebellion...
1. Chapter 1

**Note to readers: this is actually being posted by my brother, as he is either disinclined to or too lazy to set up his own account. Reading over my shoulder, he has just elbowed me in the head for that last sentence. Either way, this ain't mine own work. Except for a couple of paragraphs, this is all my brother's brain lint. **

**He has me in a headlock. Help. **

**DISCLAIMER: neither of us crazy people owns the Codex Alera series or the Hunger Games; kudos for those two go to Jim Butcher and Suzanne Collins, respectively. All characters and events herein are entirely fictional and any resemblance to any actual people, places, and events is solely the fault of the original authors. Just a spoof, just a spoof, we took some creative liberties with how baby Desiderius might have turned out. All flames will be employed to ceremonially burn their senders in effigy. **

**One-shot, slight Gale/Katniss if you pay attention, some detailed scenes of violence…I don't think it's anything you can't handle…**

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, MAY THE 76th ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES BEGIN!"

Oh, wait a second. This isn't the start of things. My bad. One moment of your time and I shall enlighten you.

My name is Desiderius Tavarus Gaius. My father is Octavian Magnus Gaius, and my mother is Kitai Sabot-ha Gaius. We live in Panem's District 11, the agriculture district. At first glance, there is nothing out of the ordinary about us; simply a family of one son, two parents, two grandparents, Grandma Isana and Grandpa Araris, and Aunt Amara and Uncle Bernard. There is one thing that sets us apart from everyone we know in this world. We are furycrafters.

Furies reside in all things. Metal, wood, fire, earth, water, and air. The strongest, like my family, can cause these furies to manifest, in other words, to appear in their physical form. I myself have my family's power. My furies are Cassius, a bear-shaped earth fury, Marcus, a bull-like water fury, Parthicus, a giant, predatory lizard made out of various parts of trees, Excidium, a boar made of fire, and Nimbus, a crocodile made of air. I can't manifest a metal fury, and Grandpa Araris said that the one and only time he did, his skin turned to metal. I am however, a strong enough metalcrafter to hold pace with him and Father.

Of course, the training in weapons and furies had to be done in the utmost secrecy, for otherwise we would be summarily executed. The Capitol had issues enough in the Rebellion to know that if you gave a crafter any sort of opening, they would take it. And in a hand to hand fight, or even a ranged fight if the crafter is a woodcrafter and has a bow or crossbow, a crafter is virtually invincible to anything save overwhelming numbers or another crafter. But I digress.

My family had been relatively prosperous for quite a few years, so there was no need for me to enter my name extra times in exchange for tesserae. But it turned out that this year, the odds were not in my favor. My name was chosen, along with Linda Davis, the school society queen. The Capitol representative asked for volunteers and got none, so that was that. We each got a half-hour to say our good-byes, and then we were loaded onto a train and rushed to the Capitol.

The TV talking heads had been speculating whether there would be a Hunger Games this year, given the events of the previous two years. I guess the Capitol had to show that it was business as usual or the doubters would be convinced that something was going down. Our mentor was Old Joe, who had won the Hunger Games so long ago that he was a decrepit old man who now spent most of his time in a bottle. That was fine by me, I could take on anyone on the planet hog-tied; Cassius and Excidium weren't ones to take prisoners.

Training was uneventful except that, for the first time, I fought someone other than Father or Grandpa. His name was Jean Ney, a broad-shouldered lumberjack from District 7. He turned out to be a dab hand with a sword and dagger. With every bout we had, my respect for him grew. For one thing, he had a sense of honor, always bowing before each bout, whether it was with me or another tribute or a trainer, and never gloating over a victory, unlike some of the other, richer tributes.

Virtually his polar opposite was the boy from District 1, Jake Roberts. Jake was loud, rude, and crude; his only redeeming quality was that he had a comic tendency to trip over his own feet, which might have contributed to his insecure personality. He was however, enough of an axe man that he wasn't laughed at very much.

For the parade, my style team portrayed me as a farmer version of the Grim Reaper, scythe and all. When the announcer asked what I thought would help me win, I simply replied, "I have friends."

Then we were deployed to the arena. This year it was a mountain, thick with forests interspersed with broad meadows, and the Cornucopia in the center of the ring we made. Then the announcement was made and all hell broke loose. Using Nimbus to get me speed, I was able to swipe a sword, a bow and quiver of arrows, and a backpack before anyone got ideas and sped down into the forest. I kept low for all the first and second days, letting the playing field narrow and taking stock of the weapons I had snagged.

The sword was what Father had called a longblade, three and a half feet in the blade and another foot in the handle, double edged and tapering to a vicious spike, and well-made to boot. The bow was a longbow, made of yew and just the right size for me, with thirty-six arrows.

On the third day, I decided to start the show and look for an opponent. By noon I had got the situation pretty much figured out. The Careers had bunched up as usual, and everyone else was just trying to survive. Everyone from Districts 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 had survived so far, along with the boy from District 9 and Ney and the girls from 10, 8, and 6. Everyone else was dead.

After observing the Careers' habits, I decided that a night assault would work best. They spoke of the dark with a definite overtone of apprehension and I guessed that they didn't have any night-vision glasses. So nightfall came along, and there they were, all huddled around the fire with Jake standing sentry and keeping the fire going, and there I was, hiding in the trees outside the meadow where they had made their camp. All through the evening I had been using my firecrafting to manipulate their emotions, causing no small amount of confrontations in the camp. Time to rumble and riot.

"EXCIDIUM!" I yelled, drawing him out into the world through the Careers' campfire. The reaction was instant and gratifying. A thunderous detonation as the campfire went from campfire to bonfire in an instant, screams as the Careers came awake in heartbeats and scrabbled away from the fire, a menacing rustle as Parthicus, at my direction, bent the trees and undergrowth into an impenetrable tangle, and more screams as, sword drawn, I walked through the flames and challenged them to individual duels, hand to hand only.

Jake, in a towering rage that I had sneaked up on him, came at me with an axe, aiming to split me in half down the middle. I dodged his blow and cut his head from his shoulders. It wasn't the first time I had killed if you count butchering animals, but it was the first time I had killed a human. The second guy to take up the challenge was the boy from District 2, with a short sword that my dad had called a gladius. He made a tentative thrust, which I hit from the side with my longblade, knocking the sword out of his hand to fly across the meadow and into the trees. He tried to run, but there had been a long knife in my backpack, and now I threw it into his back, between his shoulder blades.

At that point they decided to send the challenge to hell and attacked in a group. They shortly discovered how very bad it is for your health to attack a crafter of the House of Gaius. By the time things finally stopped, there were ten dead bodies on the ground and my sword was red to the hilt. I dismissed Excidium and the fire shrank down to a campfire, leaving me staring at the carnage, vaguely wondering what the hell had happened. I dimly remembered hearing the cannon shots announcing the deaths, of slicing one of the boys in half, which explained why one corpse was in two separate pieces, and grabbing one of the girls by the throat as she went for me with a club and snapping her neck. Slightly dazed by the aftermath, I made my way back to my campsite and slept.

The next morning, as I was getting water, the girls from 10 and 8 ambushed me. The girl from 10 rushed me with a branch, but I pivoted, grabbed the branch as it descended, and threw it and her into the lake, where I let Marcus hold her under until I heard the cannon shot proclaiming her drowning. The girl from 8 raised a crossbow and fired, but I hardened the air in front into a shield that shattered the bolt. She turned to run, but I knew that any sponsors I might have wouldn't be happy about my letting her get away. I called up Nimbus for speed, tackled the girl, and broke her neck with some help from Cassius.

The morning ambush over, I finished filling my water jug and returned to camp. There I found a surprise waiting for me. My sponsors had dropped a care package. I tore open the wrapping and found Father's battered _lorica_, the armor he had worn in the rebellion. Cuirass, vambraces, greaves, gauntlets, pauldrons, and elbow and knee plates; it fit perfectly. The one time I had seen it, it had been hidden in the secret cave off our basement, dusty, dented, and looking forgotten. Now it was freshly cleaned, the scarlet and azure eagle that is the emblem of the House of Gaius shining like one of Excidium's fires.

I thought it over as I stood there encased in steel, looking up at the sky. I could feel my father's intention in sending me his armor. He, patriarch of the House of Gaius, last of the rebellion's furycrafters, was declaring war on Panem and throwing his lot in with the rebels. I hoped to the great furies that my family was safely gone and not now paying for Father's defiance in a Peacekeeper jail.

That evening, after I had retrieved the gladius from where it had stuck in a tree, it was announced that only I and Ney were left standing. It wasn't stated explicitly, but I got the message. _There had better be an epic confrontation._I had asked permission to use my furies with the phrase, "They'll want a show." Everyone had been silent for a moment and then Father had stood up, put a hand on my shoulder and said,

"Then give them a show. By the bloody crows, you give them a show they won't forget for ten thousand years." They would be lucky to forget the one I had in mind for them in one _million_ years. If ever.

I sent the watercrafting the next day. I had had Marcus discover which body of water the boy from District 7 was residing near, and put me through to him. He had cursed in astonishment and jumped backward, stopping when I raised a hand in greeting.

"Greetings, Ney." I said formally. I had looked up the name in the Capitol's computer network and discovered that, centuries before the Catastrophes, there had been a man named Napoleon who had conquered most of a continent called Europe. One the man's Marshals, one of his great generals, had been named Michel Ney, "the bravest of the brave".

Ney stood up and raised a hand to mirror my gesture. "Greetings, Desiderius, is it?"

"I am he."

"What does Desiderius mean, out of curiosity?"

"It's Romanic. 'The desired one.'"

"Ah."

There was silence for a few seconds as we considered each other.

"Why the conversation?"

"I had no wish to blunder aimlessly around the Arena trying to find you."

"So you want to arrange a time and place for our final battle."

"It would save time and energy."

"Hmm."

"Shall we meet at the Cornucopia? It is probably the only place either of us will recognize from the other's description."

"Sounds convenient. Have I your word that you will not use your, uhh, special abilities?"

"That's supposed to be a secret."

"I was hiding nearby the Career's campsite when you made your little display. Allow me to say that it was quite spectacular."

"Why, thank you."

"Your word?"

"I cannot guarantee it. My furies have an interest in my well-being and they might see fit to intervene without my asking it of them."

"I see. It was worth asking."

"I can, however, promise not to use them voluntarily."

"So I may have your word on that?"

"On my family's honor."

"At the Cornucopia, then."

"At the Cornucopia. I hope you'll understand if I hope that the odds aren't in your favor?"

"Of course."

"Die well, Ney."

"Die well, Desiderius."

The day afterward found us both at the Cornucopia, ready to riot. Ney had found a breastplate, a sword and dagger, and a buckler. I had my longblade and gladius, and Father's _lorica_. Ney was particularly interested in the eagle, asking what it meant. He seemed to understand when I told him it was the symbol of my family.

"Before we get to business, would you mind if I made it so that neither of us could escape?" I asked.

"Go ahead, knock yourself out."

At that, I began the idea that had been forming in my head the day before, first, I had Cassius turn the ground we were standing and the ground around us for one hundred meters into a boulder-strewn pit fifty feet deep. Then, I had Marcus hollow out a trench all around the bottom of the pit and fill it with fast-flowing water. To top it all off, I used Excidium to set the rim of the pit on fire.

Ney looked around at the new arena and nodded. "Most impressive."

"Thank you."

"Shall we to business then?"

"Let us to business."

We took our ready stances, Ney with sword held back, buckler in front. Me with longblade in my right hand cocked over my head like a scorpion tail, with my gladius held in a low guard. We circled, looking for an opening. Then, all of a sudden, Ney rushed forward with long, low strides, sword snapping forward like a striking viper. I knocked the thrust aside with the gladius and brought the longblade whistling down in a looping overhand cut.

Ney deflected the slash with his buckler and swung it forward in a vicious punch aimed at my head. I backpedaled and he came on, sword slashing in fast, sweeping arcs. I sensed a boulder coming up behind me and quickly ducked around it, breaking Ney's momentum and letting me take the offensive.

I pushed steadily forward, longblade and gladius swirling in one of Grandpa Araris' favorite offensive patterns, which he said pirates had used on wet decks in rough weather. Done right, it was nigh impossible to beat for very long. And I was doing it better than I had ever done in practice with Grandpa and Father. Ney copied my trick, ducking behind a boulder to break my momentum, but I had seen the boulder coming up behind him and simply went around the boulder after him, but as I did so he threw the buckler at me and I had to stop to whirl aside.

When I had successfully dodged the flying steel disk, Ney was waiting with his dagger in the hand formerly occupied with the buckler. We both stood there for a few seconds, taking each other in, each of us knowing that the other wished that this was simply another bout in the training hall and knowing that it wasn't. It was a battle to the death, and only one of us would be walking away alive. We came out of our ready stances for an instant, bowed to each other, and set to.

I'm told that the resulting duel was the most spectacular one ever witnessed on the Hunger Games. All I know was that at the end of it, Ney made a mistake and that I capitalized on it, first taking off his sword hand with the gladius and then bringing the longblade up behind his knee and hamstringing him. He stumbled, went to one knee, tried to get up, and failed. He looked at me with this utterly calm expression on his face.

"I do not want my body to be a symbol of failure for my District," he said distinctly, dropping his dagger and pinching off the spouting artery with his remaining hand. "Cremate me."

"Are you sure of this?"

"Absolutely."

I turned my face to the sky, where I knew the cameras were recording everything. "The great furies and all watching this bear witness that Jean Ney of District 7 has chosen this fate of his own will and through no wish of mine." I turned back to him. "Do you have any last words, _gadara_?"

Ney nodded. "What does the word _gadara_ mean?"

"It has no true translation to English. The closest term is 'trusted or respected enemy'. I learned it from my father. He said that in the culture he learned it from, enemies are held in higher esteem than friends."

Ney nodded. "I think I understand. One moment please." He looked up at the sky. "_Vive la Revolucion! Vive la Katniss Everdeen! Vive la Peeta Mellark! Vive les martyrs! La mort du president!_" he turned back to me. "Now I am ready. _La paix êvec atre vous, gadara._"

I bowed. "And peace be with you, _gadara_." I extended my longblade. "_Burn_."

A sphere of fire exploded outward from where Ney had been kneeling with a thundering detonation. The cannon shot came immediately after the firecrafting had been invoked; Ney had died instantly.

There was a beat of silence. Then the announcer's voice blared out. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Desiderius Tavarus Gaius, winner of the 76th Hunger Games!"

The hovercraft came in, picked me up, the crew inside got me cleaned up and presentable, yada, yada, yada. Truth be told, the duel with Ney had left me too worn out to register much. Then there was the final show, where the highlights of the Games were replayed. Ney was right; the part where I eliminated the Careers _was_ impressive. Even more impressive was the final duel between me and Ney. During the actual duel, I hadn't consciously seen the mistake Ney had made; in the video, I saw that he had overextended a lunge with his sword hand that allowed me to deflect the lunge with the gladius, pinwheel the gladius to take the hand, and then take him behind the knee.

After the replay was finished, I stood from where I had been seated on the stage, yelled one phrase in Romanic, and took off so fast that the security people didn't have a chance to fire. The phrase I yelled was _Veneratio, licentia, quod ultionis._ Honor, freedom, and revenge.

XXX

_Two months,_ President Snow thought-growled to himself as he glared at his agenda. _Two damned months since that bastard Gaius up and ran for the hills._ So far, his Peacekeepers were keeping word of the rebellion from spreading, but that was liable to change.

"Sir! Sir!" his aide blundered into the office, eyes wild with terror.

"Calm down. What is it?"

"In the garden, Sir. It's him."

The presidential expression froze. "Desiderius, you mean." The secretary nodded. "Then why haven't I heard gunfire?"

The hapless underling quaked. "You'd better take a look, Sir."

Snow mumbled something about incompetent lackeys under his breath, rose, and strode out into the garden. What he saw froze him in his tracks.

Gaius was standing in the pond. And in the pond above that one also.

He turned to his secretary. "Get on the communicator to the District Head Peacekeepers. Find out if this is happening elsewhere." The secretary nodded and dashed inside.

The image of Gaius, full color and in 3D, the President noticed, turned its head left and right and began to speak in a booming voice.

"Citizens of Panem. I am Desiderius Tavarus Gaius. Warmaster of the Council of Freedom. Pay heed to my words, for they are the truth."

Snow's secretary came back and handed him a note. Scribbled on the paper were the words, _Nationwide. Jamming doesn't work._ Snow scowled. This was very bad.

"Katniss Everdeen could not make this address for reasons of her health. It is left to me to attempt to speak her words."

"Panem is a nation ruled by a king. This king takes everything from us, the fruit of our labors, the skill of our hands, our children, and leaves us with nothing. Those who resist are put to the sword. But some escape."

"I am one such. Katniss is another. Between the two of us, and Peeta Mellark, and the remnants of District 12 and the inhabitants of District 13, and many others, we have crafted a rebellion that even now smolders like a banked fire, waiting for the wind that turns it into an inferno. You are that wind."

"We welcome all comers. Age, race, creed, gender, sexuality, rich or poor, walk of life, we care nothing. Come to us, and be sheltered. Come to us, and be welcome. Come to us, and if you wish it we shall make of you a conflagration that shall sweep Panem like a burning wind and, the great furies willing, burn President Snow and his minions into the sea. Come to us, and food, shelter, vengeance, and freedom shall be yours for the taking. Come to District 13, and join us."

Desiderius raised his clenched fist before his chest. "President Snow fears you! Why else would he rule as he does, with gun and club, whip and executioner? Take his fear and craft of it a weapon fit to kill a king! Take the memories of the tributes killed in the Games, of your children killed to silence you, and one day, we shall make President Snow and his ilk play the Hunger Games!"

"May the great furies be with you."

Desiderius turned and faced President Snow. "You." Snow looked at the other pool. The image there had collapsed. This was evidently meant to be personal. "You destroyed District 12."

President Snow nodded. "I gave the order, yes. What is it you want to say?"

Desiderius' expression was utterly merciless. "Abdicate. Leave Panem now and never return. Take with you all of your cronies who wish to survive."

Snow frowned. "And why should I do this?"

"Because if you don't," Desiderius rumbled, "I shall come for you."

Snow felt his stomach turn over at the threat implied that sentence.

"I will come for you." Desiderius snarled. "And when I do, there shall be no quarter for anyone. I shall burn your Capitol. I shall bury your Peacekeepers." The furycrafter smiled like a dragon that had spotted a helpless deer. "I shall turn your sky black with crows."

Slowly, Desiderius' image flowed back into the pool. Snow straightened his collar and turned back to his office, keeping himself in rigid control. There were things to do and panicking was not one of them.

XXX

Lieutenant Raven of the Panem Air Force glanced at the control board of his hovercraft. It wasn't the actual control board, which was up in front with the pilot. It was just here in the CIC to give the operators an idea of how the hovercraft was working.

Raven didn't know why his squadron had been ordered to bomb District 13, but then, he wasn't supposed to question orders, just follow them. That was fine in his lights; he just wanted to follow the profession of arms in peace. But peace seemed to be taking a backseat to change lately.

"Sir! We've lost power in the port turbines!" The frantic bellow of his pilot jolted him out of his reverie to glance at the control board and confirm that the port turbines were indeed down. The problem with that was that they were effectively fail-proof.

He turned to the communicator. "Switch port-side power to emergency. Run diagnostics." He switched over to the engine room. "Ensign, we're showing loss of power in the port turbines; what the hell?"

"Got me, Sir." The engine room ensign sounded baffled. "We didn't see any problems before take-off."

"Find out what it is and fix it, damn it!" Raven shut off the communicator and switched back to the pilot's channel. "Diagnostics show anything?"

"Air intake appears to be blocked! Emergency power reporting the same failure! We're losing altitude fast, Sir!"

The engine room ensign tuned back in. "I heard that, Sir. We don't see anything clogging the intakes."

Raven turned to his communications man. "Issue mayday. All crew prepare to eject."

"Starboard turbines have failed! We're going in hard, Sir!"

_What the hell?_ Lieutenant Raven thought as he watched the altitude counter click down to zero. _What the bloody he-_

The explosion drowned out the world.

Desiderius smiled as he watched the plume of smoke rise from the crash site. Let the mechanics explain _that_ to the President. Even better was watching the same thing happen to the entire air fleet that had been deployed to blow District 13 back to the Stone Age. Simply amazing, how one aircrafter could harden the air in a hovercraft's air intakes and cause it to crash. Even more amazing was how many of their recruits and founders had been crafters.

Katniss and Gale were woodcrafters, Peeta earth, and Primrose water. Of course, Katniss and Gale were on parental leave and wouldn't be of much use to the rebellion, but that was immaterial at the moment. What was material was that Katniss and the baby had survived, thus preventing the scenario Desiderius had feared the most; Katniss and the baby dying and Gale going on a maverick rampage that did more harm than good. Desiderius shook his head and turned away from the dropping hovercrafts. There was an insurgency to plan.

XXX

Nighttime in District Seven. The giant mills, the tree-harvesting machines, all were silent, looking like horrific insects crouched over the land, ready to attack with nightmarish blades. Through the woods, thick despite the regular clearing out of trees, came the rebels.

Katniss had insisted on leading the noncombatant section of the battle; she was hunkered down in the cold and the dark with the rest of the troops, Gale hovering with her to make sure she wasn't harmed.

This was the delicate part; a secretive watercrafting message had carried word to their contact in the District, and at that very moment, in every house along the forest edge, there were children waiting to be smuggled away by the women and noncombatant men of the resistance, who were at this moment cautiously skulking in camouflage around the fringes of the woods.

As previously arranged, the children came out in ones and twos, always with a careful pause between sets so that anyone who didn't watch for too long would merely think that a few had sneaked out to use the privy. Very small children had been cautiously dosed with sleep-inducing medicine to ensure that they remained quiet while grim-faced older siblings toted them out into the wilderness.

After a quiet counting of noses, Desiderius' lieutenants had deduced that they'd squirreled away close to six hundred of the sick, the elderly, the injured, the women and the children. Six hundred that, as they watched the transport squadron take them back to District Thirteen, they knew wouldn't die in the oncoming struggle.

This would be more difficult. Now, as Katniss' squadron led the weaker ones away, Gale's team faced the condition that the people of the District had insisted upon; the chance to wreak a little havoc before stealing safely away into the night.

With care, the team stalked through the shadowy streets, collecting a man or two from every house, until in all they stood as a force of twenty-five elite trained warriors and one hundred thirty partially trained or untrained but enthusiastic impromptu recruits.

While the recruited townsfolk set everything to disorder in town on their way, the District Thirteen fighters zeroed straight in on the machines. As the men of the town created havoc in the working area and smeared poison ivy over everything, Gale took out the plans drawn up for them by the uniquely gifted engineers they'd sneaked out of District Three.

Blades were blunted, rotational devices carefully unhinged, a man lowered into the cavernous region that opened up when they took away the maintenance panel from under the driver's seat so that he could disconnect and reconnect the colored wires hooked up to all the controls. They slipped ghostlike from machine to machine, rendering the machines either useless, fatally dangerous to the user, or both. All the while, the fuse to chaos was being laid beneath them as the men carefully sliced at platforms to weaken them, frayed ropes with their belt knives to snap at the first heavy strain, punctured the hoses in the breathing masks that the Peacekeepers wore when they patrolled.

On to the mills; here, after carefully disabling or booby-trapping the heavy machinery, Gale's men whole-heartedly joined in as the townsfolk drilled holes in walkways and slit ropes. One clever young local had determinedly attacked a section of wall close to one of the mulching machines where they prepared wood pulp, an area which frequently was enclosed in a haze of fine, atomized wood dust.

The resourceful fellow carefully laid a tripwire, so that an inexperienced worker like the Peacekeepers they would send in tomorrow once the men were discovered missing might be so blinded by the dust he would stumble straight into it. The tripwire would pull out a weight, which would flip a lever, which would slap another lever, which would set a cog to turning, which would push out a slat…and a miniature guillotine blade poised over a bundle of electric wire would be sent inexorably on its way. One fat little spark like the one that would produce in the hazy air…a massive fireball just might impede them in their work…right…?

XXX

The Head Peacekeeper of District 7 glared at the ruins of the lumber camp. The machines had all been rendered useless. A few that his men had tried to start up had exploded, spraying shrapnel everywhere. The mulchers had produced a particularly spectacular fireball, something to do with atomization, he remembered vaguely from his long ago school days. Even worse was what had happened to the population.

Every single District inhabitant, man, woman and child, had disappeared without a trace.

XXX

_Four years later_

Desiderius strode through the presidential palace, swords drawn and dripping. The rebel forces had taken the Capitol by storm and were currently cutting their way through to the last pockets of resistance. Desiderius and a squad of handpicked furycrafters, all of Knight quality, had breached the presidential palace and were closing in on the president.

A squad of Peacekeepers charged at them from down the corridor, swords drawn. Raven, a Knight Terra and Ignus, stepped forward to meet them, claymore blazing. In seconds, the Peacekeepers were all dead and Raven was wiping his massive sword clean on a lace handkerchief, his poker face unchanged. Desiderius nodded acknowledgement and continued. Raven had been found in the ruins of District 12, having managed to survive the firebombing. Isana had recognized the boy's talent and sent him to Desiderius for training. In normal life, Raven was shy as a wild beast. In battle however, he was a tornado, second only to Desiderius in power. And he didn't take prisoners.

Finally, after a few more interruptions, the squad came to the door to the president's office. Desiderius glanced at the stout iron door, turned to Asriel, and lifted an eyebrow. Asriel nodded, glowered at the door, clenched his fist, and made a punching gesture at the door. The air he had hardened to stonelike consistency rammed into the door and smashed it open, knocking it into the room with a screech of torn metal. Asriel was a Knight Aeris and Ferrous, skilled in metal and aircrafting.

The squad silently filed in to find the president sitting at his desk trying to direct the resistance. Desiderius walked up to the desk and calmly crushed the radio under a gauntleted fist. The president stopped mid-order, looked up, and gulped.

"Hello," the general of the rebels said, inordinately friendly. A symphony of popping knuckles from his company rang into the night, shortly followed by screams.

XXX

There was quiet as everyone in the rebel force who had been fighting came to a stop, realizing there was nobody left to kill. They were in the immense, sweeping foyer of the extravagant palace, having slowly trickled inwards after crushing the last entrenched handfuls of fighters.

Footsteps ringing against the eerily silent, cold flagstones made them all look up to the balcony, where Desiderius had emerged from the door to the president's office. His booted feet left slightly bloody footprints behind, not of his own blood, but of his victim's. The warrior's sword dripped blood onto the floor in a steady rhythm as he walked down the stairs.

"He's dead," Desiderius said. "We're done here."

Stunned silence reigned for a beat before a single jubilant yell from the back of the room set off a cacophony of cheers. About half-a-dozen marching songs started up amongst the populace, and finally they all settled on a nameless tune made up by a member of the rebellion, based on Rue's four-note run.

The stirring battle song rang through the streets of the Capital as the rebels marched in victory.


	2. PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

Ack!

It has recently come to my attention that I've spent almost a month, maybe more, without updating any of my stories, or even letting you guys know what on Earth is going on with me.

Long story. Main points:

-My brother tried to use my flash drive to transfer files and somehow managed to fry the little mechanical brains out of the thing. –Poof- go all my stories. New chapters, new stories I planned to put up, brainstorms, everything.

-Cousins descended upon us for almost a week, with only a week and a half's notice. Singwing is now all cousined out, thank you very much. Must…reboot…brain…

-It has come to my attention since I lost my files that I have run out of stamina on some of them, and on others I have no idea where to go. As a result, I am putting some up for adoption, in the hope that they will find loving, kindly authors who will have mercy on a penniless soul…

THE STORIES BEING PUT UP FOR ADOPTION:

-In the Name of Love

-Black as Ebony

THE STORIES I WILL KEEP IN THE HOPES THAT I CAN GET RESTARTED:

-Sister of the Sun

STORIES THAT HAVE ALREADY BEEN COMPLETED WHICH I SHAN'T MESS WITH:

-Furies of Panem

COMING SOON:

-Daughter of Shadows (Aquarion fic: Apollo is a girl)

Thank you all so much for your patience. Yet again, my many apologies. Please PM if you'd like to adopt.

-singwing


End file.
